Death and All of His Friends
by DeanPlaysGuitarforCas
Summary: After Dean Winchester becomes a demon, he commits horrible crimes, shocking Sam and Castiel, the latter of whom he had a romantic relationship. Centuries later, humanity has been reborn and Jimmy Novak and John Singer need to discover the past in order to fix the future.


_Castiel is flying, but he does not take the simple joy in it that he usually does. His reclaimed Grace makes him stronger tenfold, but this is a task he never wanted to do. _

_Sam is dead and in Heaven, and the same can be said for Dean. That's where he's going. Heaven. _

_He lands with a clank of his armor, eyes rising to meet the face he once dearly loved. _

_"Hello, Dean." A slight smirk grows on Dean's face, his horned armor shifting, black eyes pleased. _

_"Hey, Cas. Sorry it's come to this."_

_"No, you're not."_

_"Nope. Castiel, Castiel." Dean shakes his head slowly, his smirk hiding his hatred. "You stole my brother from me."_

_"I did nothing. He chose Heaven over Hell."_

_"You're lying! Sam wouldn't have done that!"_

_"I am lying. Sam wouldn't have. He didn't choose. It's because he was good. I had nothing to do with it." Dean unsheathes his sword. _

_"I'm going to enjoy tearing you apart."_

_"No. You won't. You don't feel anything anymore. Why would you want Sam?" Dean's expression flickers. _

_"Boy King," he says with a laugh. "Oh, he's still got it. Those... great psychic powers. Yeah, they're buried, bur you just can't erase that kind of thing." Castiel shakes his head slowly. He never wanted to hate Dean like this. But he has to, now. He grips his sword tightly. Dean smiles when he sees it. _

_"Bring it on, Castiel." And they fly at each other, Heaven versus Hell, angel versus his charge, Cas against Dean, love against hate. _

_Their swords clash, power thundering across the fields of Heaven. Dean twists and swipes, but Castiel ducks, trying to take out Dean's legs. They break apart, circling each other before Castiel rushes at him and slams the butt of his sword into Dean's shoulder. _

_Dean tries to stab him, but Cas is quicker and flies up, up, towards the sun, a bright beacon of hope that he doesn't have. He flies until Dean thinks he's fleeing. Then a few seconds more. Then Castiel spins, and flies towards Dean, tackling him and dragging him down towards the ground of Heaven. They collide with the clouds, and Castiel pins Dean, sword tip at his throat. Dean's eyes are desperate, pleading. _

_"Cas, please. Please." Castiel hesitates, lifts his sword a fraction. _

_"Dean."_

_"Cas..." And then he is thrown off, flying through the air, landing hard. It was just a trick. A lie. A mockery. He should've known better, but Dean has always clouded his judgement. Dean laughs from behind him as he struggles to get up. _

_"I can't believe you fell for that. Pathetic." And then, right then, the buried pain catches up to him, to Castiel, the pain of losing the man he loves, the pain of being Dean's enemy, the pain of losing Sam, the pain of having to fight Dean Winchester. And Castiel would rather die than feel this. So he lies still. _

_"Whassa matter, Castiel, did I hurt your feelings?" Dean is closer now, and if Castiel can block out his words, he can almost imagine he's sleeping and Dean— his Dean— is coming over to sleep next to him, as had happened many times before. _

_"Come on! Put up a fight, you worthless meatsack! C'mon! Don't make my job too easy!" Cas struggles to stand, wishing to forget where he is, and caress the memories of Dean. The real Dean. Dean's sword strikes him, right across the face, and he staggers back, gripping his own sword, trying to shake off his feelings. _

_But he can't. _

_He's not strong enough. He could turn a blind eye when he didn't see Dean doing horrible things, but now, he can't bear being Dean's enemy. His true enemy. That is one thing he has wished for since the day he grabbed hold of Dean in Hell. _

_"Dean. Please."_

_"Begging? Not your style," Dean says with a twisted grin. _

_"Please, Dean. Don't do this."_

_"Oh? So this is your little strategy. Wow. Any more clichéd ways to stop me?"_

_"Dean. I know you're in there. You have to stop this, please." Dean swings again and slams it right into Cas's side. Cas coughs and staggers, Grace leaking from his lip from the force of the blow. _

_"Fight, Castiel!" He screams. Cas throws his sword, and watches it tumble down through the clouds. _

_"I'm not going to fight you, Dean." _

_"That makes one of us." _

_"Dean. Please. Please don't do this to me. I love you." Dean stares at him then laughs. _

_"Oh my God. You actually think I'm going to believe that?"_

_"I love you, Dean Winchester. I love you so much." Dean lunges at him, sword out, and Cas pulls him towards him, and presses his mouth to Dean's. He holds Dean there, feeling every microscopic bit of Dean's soft lips. He gasps softly as the sword sinks through his chest, but keeps kissing Dean, who tries to pull away at first, but then his reflexes allow him to keep kissing Castiel. _

_And what a strange sight they were, an angel kissing a demon, both once human, neither any longer. Once best friends. Once lovers. No longer. And then Cas tastes the blood. His own. Not blood. Grace. Dean pulls away, staring at him. _

_"Cas... Cas?" And his eyes are green again. Beautiful green. Cas thinks it is the most exquisite, the most wonderful thing he has ever seen. The sword retracts from his chest, and he gasps, and then sighs with happiness. Dean looks down, and sees the Grace choking his sword, sees it pouring in waves from Cas's chest. _

_"Cas? No!" Cas reaches up, and touches Dean's cheek, leaving smears of Grace. He smiles. And then he closes his eyes, and lets himself fall again, down into the clouds, falling through, but it feels like he's flying down towards the earth. He is suddenly much younger, and visiting Earth for the first time. He's so excited. _

_Dean jumps after Cas, screaming his name. He thought he'd never escape what he was, so he embraced it and did what he knew was expected of him. _

_But he gave everything up. Sam. Cas. Bobby. Everyone. And so when he had to duel with Cas, he was so hurt, but he kept up his appearance. As usual. Cas had taken Sam to Heaven before Dean could even say he was sorry. Cas had never forgiven Dean. He'd kept Dean away. He'd never let Dean apologize or get close. He fought, thinking of how much he wanted to kill Cas. And when Cas begged, when he pleaded, Dean took joy in it. When Cas discarded his sword, it had surprised Dean. And Cas kissed him as the blade sunk through his chest. Cas could've stopped it. But he didn't. In his last moments, Cas touched Dean and smiled. _No_, he thought furiously. _I can save him!

_Cas was plummeting, and Dean watched as his armor flaked away, as his Grace bled out. His feathers were being torn out, and a few hit Dean in the face. He pulled them off, and clutched a handful in his palm tightly. _

_"Cas!" Dean screams in horror as he watches Cas become human. Human enough to die. Dean won't let him. Never. He won't let go. And Dean pushes himself, towards Cas, and grabs Cas's hand. _

_"We can fix this," he shouts over the wind. Cas's eyes open, gentle, soft eyes. _

_"You already have." And Grace explodes from Cas, escaping into the sky, leaving trails of who Castiel was, the essence of an angel. The Earth is looming, and Dean closes his eyes._

* * *

Jimmy Novak wakes up, alarm clock screaming in his ear, yawning. His eyes are bleary and he'd prefer not to go to school today. Nothing new ever happens, nothing exciting. This day will be no exception. He's sure of it. He slams his fist down onto the clock, and rolls over, sighing.

He rubs the sleep from his eyes, and sits up, swinging his feet over the bed. His body groans in protest, but he sinks his feet into the carpet, and stands up, checking his usual bedhead in the mirror. He runs his fingers through it like his hands are combs, but it only makes it stick up in the front too, and he just gives up. Jimmy heads downstairs for breakfast, pouring himself a bowl of Honey Nut Cheerios. He eats quickly and returns upstairs to get dressed. He's worn most of his favorite shirts already, including his black Nirvana shirt.

Jimmy is so tired and unfocused that he moves to the back of the closet without realizing until he takes a handful of something he's probably never worn. It's crinkled and soft, like he has, a tan trench coat that would probably fall to his knees. He scoffs. He'd look like a flasher in that. But who is he to question the almighty destiny? He laughs a little. Why not? He fishes a pair of jeans from a hanger with his pianist's fingers, and grabs an off-white shirt that's his cousin Gabriel got him. It says IF I DON'T KICK YOUR ASS, HEAVEN'S GOING TO.

Jimmy gets dressed quickly and looks at himself in the mirror with a little snicker. Since he can't look more ridiculous, he pulls on a blue scarf that clings to his neck and his black combat boots. He leaves them unzipped. Jimmy checks his watch and grabs his bag before darting out the door.

"Anna! I'm going!" He shouts at his older sister.

"Okay, Jimmy!" She calls back. She's twenty-two, and on break from college. She's a photography major. Jimmy runs out the door, but knows he won't be late, because the school is only half a mile away. If he gets there early, though, he might make it to the art room and get to draw. He runs, excited and exhilarated, inhaling the crisp morning air. At least it's a nice day today, the sun leaking through the puffy white cloud it's currently behind.

He makes it to the school in a few minutes, panting as he leans over and grips his knees. There are only a few other students milling about outside of his small high school, so he knows he's early. Jimmy stands up and walks in as soon as he catches his breath, and turns down the hall towards the art room.

Jimmy hesitates before he pushes open the door, and goes to his usual table in the back. He picks at the Unpickable Stain of bright blue paint that's been there forever, and then slings his backpack off his shoulder and pulls out his sketchbook. It lies open to a fresh page for a while, as he leafs through his brain for a new idea. The door opens and Jimmy nearly jumps out of his seat.

"So, I'm Mrs. Harvelle and this is my room— Jimmy! I didn't know you were in here." Mrs. Harvelle, his art teacher, steps in, eyes wide.

"Sorry," he says. "I had an idea today." She smiles.

"Well, that's great. Oh! Oh. Jimmy, I've got somebody I want you to meet." She steps aside, showing a boy who Jimmy doesn't recognize. He's tall and broad-shouldered, with lightly browned skin and lighter brown hair. The boy lifts his hand in greeting.

"Jimmy, this is John."

"Hey," Jimmy offers weakly. Mrs. Harvelle has tried to socialize him a lot, but she doesn't know he HAS friends. This must be another one of her tries.

"John's new." A new kid? Here? Unheard of. "Jimmy, you mind showin' him around?" Jimmy hesitates, then shakes his head.

"No. I wouldn't mind."

"John, you wanna go over there? Actually, you're in first-period with me. I'll put you across from Jimmy, okay?" John nods and walks over to the seat across from Jimmy, sitting down without a word. Jimmy vaguely wonders if he's mute. Mrs. Harvelle goes to her desk and sits down, eyes egging on Jimmy to talk to him. Then she returns to her papers.

"Um... hey," John mutters.

"Hi." Jimmy swallows and curses his own awkwardness. "So you're new?" John nods.

"Yeah. Me and my brother and my mom just moved. My mom grew up here."

"Oh. Why did she move away?" Jimmy asks, curious. People don't tend to leave this town, and when they do, they don't return. John shrugs.

"Her old house went up for sale, so she bought it and we just moved back here." John scrunches up his nose in a thoughtful expression. "I didn't really like it in Pontiac," he decides aloud.

"You're from Illinois?" Jimmy asks.

"Yep." Jimmy thinks for a while, earning him an eyebrow raise from John.

"Hope you like it here," he offers up weakly. John's eyes meet his with more intensity than Jimmy has ever experienced.

"Do you?"

"I'm sorry?"

"Do you like it here?"

Jimmy is startled by the question, and closes his sketchbook as he thinks carefully about his answer.

"Not really." The bell rings and John gets up out of his seat to take his backpack to his locker, Jimmy assumes. A group of students flood into the classroom, blocking his view of John besides his sneakers, and it isn't until those sneakers disappear that Jimmy realizes just how vibrantly green John's eyes were.


End file.
